Sweat
by x3 Samantha
Summary: Ariadne travels to Mombasa to work with the team. She finds that she disagrees with the weather there, but not the company.


Disclaimer: Inception and all of the characters in it belong to the wonderfully talented Christopher Nolan.

Author's Note: Once again, this isn't beta'd, so sorry for the mistakes you find. I really need to work on finding one of those… Please review if you have the time. Even if you didn't like it, I love to hear what you think.

Mombasa was not kind to the architect. She was constantly covered in a sheet of her own sweat. Ariadne was the type of girl that flourished in places where the seasons changed and scarves were appropriate to wear year round. For the first time in her life she felt comfortable wearing sundresses.

How the men could stand it in their suits, she didn't know. Cobb often shot her sympathetic looks whenever she would fan herself. Arthur didn't sweat, the bastard. It's like her hardly noticed the temperature at all. Eames, she knew, felt the heat the same way she did, but it was as though he flourished in the extreme weather. Her grandmother would have called him hot blooded.

It was doing things to her, this heat. And not just costing her a fortune in anti-perspirants. She experienced a violent mood shift in Mombasa. It was as though if her body couldn't be cold, her attitude certainly could be. In France she thought and calculated and cushioned her words. In Kenya she sneered and dripped sarcasm and rolled her eyes at the slightest annoyance. The boys noticed it instantly. Cobb tip-toed, Arthur remained passive, and Eames jumped at the opportunity to get under her skin; naturally.

Ariadne sat in her chair at their rented studio and worked, sweat dripping down the back of her neck as the sun set in front of her. She sighed and closed her eyes, reveling in the cool breeze that passed through the window, silently thanking God for the relief. She rubbed a hand over her face, and pulled her hair up on to her head, securing it with a rubber band. She dragged the hand back down her neck, slowly; imagining a larger, calloused one instead.

Her eyes snapped open and her palm hit the table when she realized her day dream. Yes, this heat certainly was doing something to the architect. Eames had noticed gleefully. Not everyone could handle Mombasa, and Ariadne was proving not to be one of the people who could. The forger was greatly amused by how frustrated she seemed to be out of her element. The greatest architect any of the team had every known, brought down by a little heat. It made him smirk, though to be fair most things did. He enjoyed her discomfort so much he found himself watching her almost constantly.

Beads of sweat dripping down her neck. The way she rolled her head back and shut her eyes to catch a passing breeze. The increasing shortness of her skirts. She was a distraction, a welcome one at that. Eames would never turn down the company of a lovely lady, and he was beginning to notice that Ariadne was just that. Quite lovely indeed. She might not agree but he thought that the weather suited her just fine.

Eames was never content with just being distracted, at some point he had to give in and become the distracter. A light brush of his hand across her exposed thighs. Whispered insults about the point-man into her ear, the scruff of his cheek barely touching hers. The heat was driving her crazy, but he was driving her mad.

Ariadne had never been the type of girl to fall for men who thought they could wink and blow kisses at the world. But those men weren't Eames, and she wasn't falling. At least, that's what she convinced herself. In Paris she could focus. In Paris she could ignore the way he pursed _those_ lips and that twinkle in his eye. In Paris she could remain polite and professional and still appreciate his humor. But she wasn't in Paris. They were working in Mombasa and Mombasa was doing something to her.

She felt juvenile, staring at him for long stretches of time while he poured over the layout of her mazes. She chastised herself whenever she was caught touching the exposed pieces of her skin while looking at him. A long stroke of her thigh while he concentrated on Cobb's plan, a hand wrapped around the back of her neck while he goaded the point-man, letting her foot trail down her the back of her calf whenever he would ask her questions about her designs. For Eames that was the best part.

Watching the little bit watch him was a fascinating study in desire. The forger was a handsome man, he knew that. He used it to his advantage at least once a day. But no one had every looked at him the way the architect did. He suspected that no one ever would again. He had been leered at, gazed at longingly, and assessed. But Ariadne wasn't just trying to figure out how best to get him into bed— though he knew that she was trying to wrap her head around that as well— she looked at him and studied him trying to figure out what exactly it was about him that made her feel this way. What it was about him that made her feel heat.

He came up behind her in the studio in Mombasa. Three thirty in the morning was well past quitting time for him and everyone else but little Ariadne still had mazes to navigate and cities to build before she could rest her weary head. "It's time for bed, love." His voice was husky as his lips brushed her ear. She tilted her head back to look at him and his hands slid slowly down her arms. Her eyelids were heavy, but she didn't mind fighting them to look at him. The forger smirked when he realized she was staring at his lips. He leaned down and they barely brushed his as he spoke. "See anything you like Ariadne?" She could only nod once before using the rest of the little energy she had left to connect her lips to his. Eames' hand immediately made its way to the back of her head, winding it in her hair as he moved his lips slowly over hers. She bit his bottom lip softly as they parted and he grinned when he heard a moan escape the back of her throat.

"Why do you do this to me?" The forger shrugged, not yet letting his hand fall from her hair.

"Blame it on the heat darling," was all he bothered to say before he caught her lips again and pushed her up against her desk.


End file.
